


Alder Queen

by 100demons



Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 14:14:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/100demons/pseuds/100demons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“For seventeen years they live underground as worms, feeding on the roots of plants and sucking the juice out of them.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alder Queen

“For seventeen years they live underground as worms, feeding on the roots of plants and sucking the juice out of them.”

Byakuya rubbed his sticky eyes and forced them to open, brushing sweaty strands of hair out of the way. “You’re here to take me back.”

The black gi of a shinigami came into view, ending in tiny feet clad in black leather. He blinked and the feet disappeared, covered by folds of black cotton and a strong brown arm.

“After seventeen years they crawl up to the surface, shed their old worm skin and grow wings. After so long, they can finally fly.” The strong brown arm reached out towards him and he felt rough calluses brush against his chin. Yellow eyes gazed into his own, unblinking.

“Do you know how you came to be here?” The voice was soft but not gentle, not like his Father’s voice at all, which was soft and gentle and told stories of the Peach Prince at night.

“I walked,” Byakuya said and fisted his hands in the heavy cotton blankets covering his lap, hand stitched blessings curling around the edges of it, praying for good health. Great Aunt Miko had taught him to hide weakness after the time she’d caught him crying over one of the lame hunting dogs in the kennel.

“From the mouths of babes and fools,” the voice said and the yellow eyes blinked lazily. “The cicadas finally grow wings and fly for a short while, just the span of one breath, in and out.”

The calluses brushed his eyes now and Byakuya found his eyelids shuttering closed against his will. “Your time will come soon, little prince,” the voice whispered, tickling his eyelashes. “Rest for just for a little longer.”

 

* * *

 

“This is your sixth petition on record.”

Byakuya studied the tatami mats underneath his feet intently. This time he’d even gone so far as to solicit three professional references and two character references, one of which proved difficult to acquire since his wet-nurse was illiterate. He stayed silent-- speaking out of turn last time had allowed Grandfather to dismiss his petition on grounds of contempt.

There was a rustle of paper as Grandfather sifted through the petition file, going through the written request (neatly written in his best calligraphy), the list of references, and a certified copy of Byakuya’s birth certificate stamped with the Kuchiki seal.

“This is quite thorough.”

Unbidden, Byakuya’s chest puffed up a little.

“Unfortunately, I cannot accept it.” Byakuya watched with growing horror as his Grandfather grasped the seal and dipped it in the pool of red ink. “Petition denied.” The red ink smeared angrily all over his brushwork, bleeding through the rice paper with a fat, red REJECTED.

“May I ask on what grounds?” Byakuya forced the question through stiff lips, knuckles whitening in his lap.

“On grounds that I am your Grandfather,” he said, pressing the tips of his fingers against each other to form a spidery sphere. “You are not yet ready to enter the Academy.”

“I’ve been deemed more than ready by my tutors, I am past the minimum age requirement, I have the reiatsu-- why won’t you let me join!” Byakuya rose from his seat, ignoring the pins and needles that shot through his feet. “I am not a child to be coddled! I am your _heir_.” His chest rose and fell with every ragged breath and Byakuya ignored the traitorous hot prickle in the corner of his eyes. He wasn’t a baby any longer, no matter what Grandfather thought-- he wouldn’t cry. Only babies and the Commoners of low birth did.

“Sit.”

Byakuya remained standing.

“ _Now_.”

The reiatsu echoed in the wake of his Grandfather’s command and Byakuya’s knees buckled of their own accord. He scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand and stared very hard at the cherry blossom painting right behind Grandfather’s shoulder.

“Byakuya.”

It was a very beautiful painting, one of his Father’s judging by the red seal on the lower left corner. His Father had been gifted in the arts and Miyako-sensei was very fond of telling him this during their daily sketching lessons and how much Byakuya lacked in comparison.

“Byakuya, please.”

He dragged his gaze from the painting to Grandfather’s face, as familiar to him as the back of his own hand. He had long hair, as white as bone and a thick mustache on his upper lip, face lined with the long years. Only the very old in Soul Society showed their age and Byakuya wasn’t sure how old Grandfather was, only that he was Very Old.

Only the very old, Byakuya realized as his Grandfather closed his eyes, shoulders sagging, or the very tired.

“Grandfather?” he asked and ignored the way his voice cracked.

“By all rights, we should not be in this circumstance,” Grandfather said and his fingertips laced together in a tight clasp. “I had hoped to retire to the summer villa and spend my days as a doting grandfather, perhaps finish writing my treatise on the use of Wakamatsu Arches in the Academy Library’s facade.” Grandfather opened his eyes and Byakuya saw his own face reflected back at him in those gray depths, and felt very small.

“If there’s anything that I should have learned by now, it is that none of us, of high or low birth, of the strong or the weak, none of us get what we want.”

“I’m sorry,” Byakuya said, the apology rising up from his mouth unbidden. It seemed like the right thing to say and Byakuya flushed at the thought of his tantrum just a few minutes before.

Grandfather shook his head slowly. “It is I who owes you an apology,” he said. “You are right. You are no longer a child and we are all bound by the ties of duty. The Cycle goes on without a care for the whims of an old man.” He paused for a moment, brow puckered. “However, there are still terms to be fulfilled before your entrance.”

Byakuya leaned forward, ears pricking at the mention of the Academy. “Yes?”

“You shall be evaluated privately by an individual of my selection. If she declares you fit, I will sponsor your bid.”

Byakuya frowned, unsure whether to be pleased or disappointed. “She?” he asked.

Grandfather nodded. “She,” he said, in a voice that brooked no dissent. “Do you accept?”

Byakuya swallowed a shout of excitement and tried to incline his head gravely. “I accept.” He closed his eyes and imagined the black gi of a shinigami over his hakama.

“I was afraid you would say that,” Grandfather said, looking every inch his age.

 

* * *

 

Yoruichi opened one eye, black slit narrowing as the room flooded with light from the open door. It was soon replaced by a mountain of a shadow and the slit widened again a fraction.

“Captain Shihouin.”

Yoruichi opened her other eye. “Kuchiki,” she said and motioned carelessly at the scattered silk cushions on the floor, each one worth enough to feed a Common Dead family for a year. The stiff old man unbent himself enough to settle himself on a cushion, hands on his knees in the proper seiza.

“Wine?” Yoruichi twitched a finger and a bowl of chilled spiced wine appeared on the floor, ice cubes tinkling against the pewter sides. She made a note to report the servant to Fong about the unseemly noise.

“No, though I thank you for your efforts.”

“No need,” she smiled, showing off her sharp canines. The silence stretched on, as taut as a string pulled tight and thrumming with tension. Yoruichi enjoyed it, lounging in the deep golden sunlight filtering through the glass window. She liked the way it set her teeth on edge.

“The time has come.”

There was no bend to them, just iron stiff spines and enough concern about honor and duty to fill all the dusty tomes in the Academy’s Library. It made them predictable, and predictable got you killed.

“How old is he now? Seven? Eight?”

“Fourteen,” Kuchiki said in his deep voice, rough and craggy as a mountainside.

“Same difference,” Yoruichi said. “Is he ready?”

Kuchiki’s slate grey eyes glittered. “You of all people should know.”

Yoruichi watched a dust mote dance in the light, swirling like a piece of driftwood caught in an eddy. She’d been to the sea once and watched the stars come out on Jyuushiro’s old roof, trying to count all of the bright lights.

“Shihouin Yoruichi.”

She snapped her eyes back to his face, yellow melting into burnished gold under the sun. “Your safety is only guaranteed by my word, Kuchiki.”

He inclined his head. “I know.”

Yoruichi sighed. “I’ll drop by the Estates sometime tomorrow.”

“I shall inform the servants.”

Yoruichi raised her hand to her face, the tips of her claws pressing lightly against her cheek. She smiled even wider. “Get out while I’m still feeling nice.”

Later, when all her spies had reported that Kuchiki was beyond safety of her barracks and her room had been cleared of the stink of his reiatsu, Yoruichi sank into her futon and waited. She had waited seven years for Kuchiki to call on her. Another day was just another drop in the bucket. She was very good at waiting.

“Yoruichi-sama,” little Soi Fong bowed over her feet, tiny fingers massaging her with deft little movements. “Is he a very strong boy?”

“He is a Kuchiki,” Yoruichi said. “Right foot, heel. They like to breed them strong.”

Soi Fong complied, fingers skittering like spider legs on glass. “Stronger than me?”

“Why, little Soi Fong, are you jealous?”

“I have sworn to never lie to my mistress,” Soi Fong said.

“And you are very loyal,” Yoruichi agreed. “Who knows how much he has grown in the years?” Soi Fong did not say that Yoruichi made her living knowing such things but Yoruichi heard it all the same.

“Yes, we’ll see for sure tomorrow,” she said in a contented voice that was nearly a purr.

 

* * *

 

Byakuya woke up to the clean smell of earth after a long rainstorm, rich with the aftertaste of lightning rending the sky in two. The cat sitting on his chest raised its head, opened one yellow eye and meowed. He blinked, then blinked again when the cat did not disappear.

He dragged himself into an upright position and earned himself three bleeding stripes of red on his cheek from the disgruntled cat. Byakuya hissed back and wiped the blood on the sleeve of his sleeping yukata. Dirt floor, dirt wall and a ceiling so high that he almost snapped his neck trying to see where the wall met the roof. He could not see the other three walls, only the one at his back that stretched on behind him with no end in sight.

“Where am I?”

The cat licked its paw delicately. It did not answer.

“Answer me!”

It paused for a moment to give him a searing glare, before returning to its washing. Byakuya vaguely felt like a child being rebuked for flinging food on the wall. “Please?” he asked in a much softer voice.

The cat looked at him for a long moment before its fur began to shiver and stretch, its black expanse expanding and unfolding, until it grew and grew into a woman with skin just as dark and long hair the color of venous blood. She was naked.

“First blood is mine,” she said and smiled so widely that Byakuya could see her sharpened canines, stained red with his blood.

“You’re not wearing any clothes,” he said stupidly.

“No,” said the woman who was a cat. “I’m not.” She didn’t look particularly fazed, and looked just as dressed in nothing as Great Aunt Miko did in her kimono, blackened teeth and white face paint.

“You’re dimmer than I expected,” the woman said and tapped a clawed finger on a cheekbone that looked sharp enough to cut. “That’s a pity.”

Byakuya restrained the urge to flinch and instead straightened his back, ignoring the way the cut on his cheek stung. “Who are you?” he commanded, like Grandfather commanded his Division.

“You may think of me as your enemy,” the woman said.

“The Kuchiki don’t deal with ransoms and kidnappers,” Byakuya said, trying and failing to arch his brow. He did, however, manage to hide the quaver in his voice. “You won’t get anything for me.”

The woman smiled even wider. “Let’s play a game, little Bya-bo.”

“Who do you think you--”

The woman’s smile hardened and Byakuya’s mouth clamped shut of its accord. “My land, my rules. Follow them and you may yet live, little prince.” She was crouched down on the ground just across from him, balancing easily on the balls of her feet. “A game, between you and me.”

Byakuya swallowed. “I don’t understand,” he said and this time could not hide the tremor in his voice.

“Listen and try.” The woman raised one clawed finger. “One: find me and you win the game.” She raised another. “Two: everything has a price.” A final finger. “Three: a death here, is a death forever.”

“Is this a dream?” Byakuya touched the three shallow cuts on his cheek and his fingertips came away a bright red. “It has to be, right?”

“All is not what it seems to be,” the woman repeated and her fingers clenched into a tight ball. “Are you ready to play, Bya-bo?”

Byakuya met her yellow eyes with his grey. He nodded slowly. “I am.”

In the span of a breath she disappeared from her spot and Byakuya barely had time to react before she reappeared behind him, breath tickling the back of his neck. “Catch me if you can,” she laughed and disappeared again before his braid unraveled to pieces.

Byakuya touched the back of his neck reflexively and his fingers easily ran through dark strands. She’d stolen his hair tie.

**Author's Note:**

> A failed attempt for Rarepairs :c


End file.
